Yuri wove through the party, a glass of champagne in each hand, searching for his husband. They'd been invited to the World's banquet after placing gold and silver, a normal occurrence on its own but saddened slightly by the announcement of their twin retirement. Though many were upset by the news that their favorite two skaters were leaving the ice, Yuri and Otabek didn't see it that way-- merely excited to embark on the next chapter of their lives together.

Yuri had been invited to join Victor and Yuuri's coaching staff, running a joint ballet and skating school -- similar to Sambo-70 but without the severe, frankly dangerous coaching methods the Tutberidze group employed -- and Otabek had finally accepted a DJ position with a record label -- something he'd been hounded about for months before at last agreeing to in the absence of competitive skating.

Needless to say, the pair were both happy with their decisions, even if the rest of the world was upset, and they made sure to stress the fact that they'd return to all the big competitions -- hell, they'd already had invitations extended to them to be guest speakers at next season's Rostelecom Cup.

As Yuri made his way through the crowd, dodging people and trying valiantly to avoid spilling any champagne onto himself from the jostling skaters around him, he searched it with his eyes. He and Otabek had lost each other earlier in the evening, Yuri vowing to grab some drinks and being unable to find his partner after he got them. Close to ten minutes later, he was still looking and seriously wondering how big could this place possibly be?

The 2029 World Championships had been held in Toronto, Canada and JJ had generously offered to host the reception at his family home. Jesus Christ, what a show-off.

The house, if it could be called that, could easily fit three of Victor and Yuuri's house within it and the couple's dwellings were far from small. With a young daughter and infant son, the pair had long ago left Victor's (disproportionately large, granted) apartment and bought a nice, three-story home in an upscale neighborhood not far from the rink -- nor Yuri's own house, for that matter.

He and Otabek had been married for four years and had lived together for eight, moving in together when Yuri had turned twenty and Lilia had finally agreed to him living with his boyfriend. No matter that he was legally above even the US's age of consent and Lilia herself had admitted that Otabek was "a very kind, dependable boy", it had taken two years of begging for her to cave and let Yuri, to his delight, move out. Secretly, he thought she'd just wanted to keep him around for longer -- most likely seeing him as a son of some sort, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't think of her as the mother he'd never had.

Even now, Yuri still kept in close contact with the woman, working with her and Yakov even past their retirement last year to finish out his final season as a competitive skater. Lilia had even set Yuri up with some of her contacts at ballet schools around the country, telling him to think about starting as a teacher for some beginner classes and maybe even trying to enroll in some of the more advanced ones himself. Despite the fact that he was 28 and a (newly) retired skater and his window of opportunity to become a professional ballerina had closed, Lilia had still (grudgingly) told him that she thought he was an excellent dancer and she would be very disappointed if he gave it up.

Yuri'd relented, after some coercion, and agreed to take a few adult ballet classes just to get her off of his back -- not knowing of course that she was good friends with the instructor and that she'd end up teaching half of the lessons herself.

So much for her retirement.

Now, though, Yuri was dead-set on finding his husband. Crowd be damned, he would get him this champagne without spilling it on himself!

Finally, as he entered a segment of the house that wasn't so crowded, he could walk normally again without trying to compress his already lithe frame to squeeze through throngs of party-goers, and caught a glimpse of a dark undercut from a room a bit ahead of him.

As he approached, he verified that it was indeed Otabek and not JJ or some other asshole with that same, popular haircut, and walked into the room; Otabek's back to him. It was only when he was inside the door, however, that he noticed the other occupant of the space.

A woman -- tall, leggy, and brunette with a long lilac dress swirling around her slim waist, stood in front of Otabek, her arms snaked around his neck, eyes shut.

Kissing him, Yuri realized belatedly.

Yuri couldn't move for a moment, just standing there and staring, his eyes raking over the intertwined figures before him: his husband, and a woman he'd never seen in his life.

He must have made some kind of sound because suddenly Otabek pulled back from the woman's embrace and turned, eyes growing wide as he saw Yuri standing in the doorway.

"Yuri, I--" Yuri didn't hear him, taking a step back as Otabek moved forward. They stood there for a moment, Otabek trying and failing to explain, his words falling on deaf ears, before Yuri turned, leaving his stammering husband in his wake.

Yuri rushed through the party, the noise and light blurring in his mind as he passed people by, dodging the questions and confused looks thrown his way as he flew through the space, aware by some sixth sense that his husband was trying to catch up with him, but found himself, fortunately for Yuri, body blocked by several over-eager reporters.

When, at last, Yuri stopped, it was in a courtyard, the dappled moonlight filtering down through the trees and illuminating Yuri's pale self, giving him an ethereal glow in the bright moonlit night. It was cool, a soft breeze fluttering Yuri's long hair as he sat down on a bench beneath a Wisteria tree, letting the blonde tresses play against his face, the glasses of champagne long abandoned somewhere in the house.

He sat there, numbly, for who knew how long, staring at the silvery lilac of the flower petals and thinking only of how similar the shade was to the woman's dress.

By some miracle, Otabek didn't find Yuri as he sat there-- though Victor and Yuuri did.

Long retired and invited to the event at the courtesy of the Leroys, they wandered into the garden, holding hands and evidently sharing a moment. At the sight of Yuri, however, seated alone on the bench,
they separated, if only slightly, and came over to him.

"Where's Otabek?" Victor asked, still holding his husband's hand, "Why aren't you two together?"

"Inside," Yuri said eventually, and it came out completely composed, as did Yuri's movements as he stood from the bench. "We got separated earlier,"

Yuuri nodded, "He was looking for you, I think-- didn't say why though."

Yuri nodded, his face blank, and moved away from the couple.

"Wait, Yurio--" Victor called toward his retreating back, taking notice of his uncharacteristic, subdued calm, "Is everything alright?"

Yuri stilled. "Yes," He said simply, emotionless. "Everything's fine, I just decided to go back a little early, that's all,"

The couple nodded, "We'll see you back at the hotel before the flight home tomorrow then," Yuuri said before Yuri shook his head.

"I'm actually leaving tonight," He said, face and tone still blank, "Otabek'll leave with you guys in the morning."

"Oh," Yuuri replied, his brows creased, "Are you sure everything's alright, Yurio?"

"Fine." Yuri said blithely before turning and departing once more, "Enjoy your night." Their questioning gazes followed him as he left the yard, making his way back through the house and hailing a cab outside.

***

As Yuri stepped back into the small house he and Otabek shared in Saint Petersburg several hours later, it finally hit him.

He walked numbly through the door, closing it and leaving his suitcase in the foyer. The grey light filtered in through the window: it was raining today, and Yuri watched as raindrops, shadowed from the window, slid down the wall opposite it, painting it in streaks of a dull, dreary grey.

As Yuri watched the raindrops' progress, his eyes landed on the photos hanging on the wall before him: Yuri, after winning his first Grand Prix Final at fifteen.

Yuri, hanging onto Otabek with a bright grin the next year after winning Worlds.

Yuri and Otabek holding up their respective gold and silver from Pyeongchang, closely followed by them grinning into the camera in front of this very house from the day they'd moved in.

Then came Beijing, again gold and silver, this time Yuri and Otabek full-on hugging.

Next was Milan, from the 2026 Olympics, the results the same as the first two, and Yuri and Otabek kissing right in front of the Olympic arena.

Yuri and Otabek, on the day of their wedding.

The photo was beautiful, and, though Yuri had initially been against it, Phichit had turned out to be the right choice for the wedding photographer. The shot was taken just as the couple had said "I do" and they stood wrapped in each others' embrace, in the middle of the first kiss.

Rose petals hung suspended in the air around them -- they hadn't planned that part, but it had been a scheme orchestrated by Victor himself and the audience threw them after the vows had been exchanged.

That day, everything had been bright and airy, the future so filled with hope and possibility and love. Now, Yuri could only see an unforgiving grey blanketing his world, and watched as the shadowy rain painted tear tracks down the cheeks of the Yuri in the picture.

That was it: the photo of the happiest day of his life overshadowed by watery illusions, and it all came rushing back. The kiss, the betrayal, everything, and Yuri's feeling of numb detachment, disbelief, maybe, was gone.

Yuri sank down onto the floor of the hallway, wrapping his arms around himself as racking sobs shook his body. On his knees, tears blurred his vision until he could see nothing but the distorted figures of his husband and the woman in the lilac dress in his mind's eye.

Yuri didn't know how long he stayed there, how long he rocked and sobbed and spilled tears until he had none left but couldn't stop. He didn't know when he stood up, when he walked upstairs and fell into bed. All he knew was that sometime later, when his tears were dried sticky on his face and fresh ones painted over them, when he felt the bed creak behind him from where he faced the wall, they had
found him.

Very gently, arms reached around him, and Yuri was pulled into the chest of, not Otabek, but Yuuri, holding him softly and stroking his hair as he cried.

"I knew something was wrong when you left alone," Yuuri whispered, "Yuri, I'm so sorry."

Yuri could do nothing but sob, and he clung to Yuuri like a lifeline as his body shook and his world broke down around him. Yuuri held him, gently rocking him and murmuring meaningless words in his
ear until Yuri cried himself out, falling asleep in the elder's arms.

***

Yuri awoke late that night, the jet lag pulling him from his fitful sleep at two am, when Yuuri and Victor had long gone home.

Yuri moved slowly, as if in a dream, slipping out from under the covers and padding barefoot downstairs. He paused in the entryway, looking again at the photo of himself and Otabek from their wedding,
now barely visible in the dark slits of moonlight filtering in from closed blinds.

Yuri made his way over to the wall -- their memory wall, as they called it -- and gazed at the photo before slowly, gently, removing it from the hook. Yuri held it in his hand, the fingertips of his other just barely brushing the glass as he stared at it, remembering the moment it had been taken and what he had felt then.

Except he didn't feel it: he didn't feel anything anymore. He didn't feel the love from the picture, nor the devastation and heartbreak from earlier -- no, he felt empty; hollow. And so, with calm, steady
hands, Yuri reached up and slid the photo onto the top of the wardrobe in the hall, before letting it go, and going back to bed.

***

It was nearly two weeks before Yuri contacted Otabek again, most-likely through some mix of interference and threats on Victor and Yuuri's parts keeping him away. Picking his phone up from his nightstand for the first time in days, Yuri scrolled through his notifications unfeelingly.

60 texts from Otabek, and 20 calls. He was desperate, that much was obvious, and begged to see Yuri, to explain.

As Yuri sat on the edge of his bed, working his way through the unread messages and unheard voicemails, clearing them one by one, he felt nothing. This was just it, he supposed. This was his life.

Broken, abandoned, lied to, and cheated -- most recently, on -- Yuri figured that disappointment and hardship was just what fate had in store for him. Ever since his mother had left him at his grandfather's house at age five he'd known well that feeling of lonely abandonment. It was no stranger to him -- more a friend with whom you have a bitter-sweet relationship: you still know each other better than anyone else, but, on some level, you're aware that it would be better if you didn't.

Yuri had been used to it before; he'd never needed friends, never needed to care about anyone other than his grandfather who hadn't ever hurt him: he'd never sought to form a connection with someone only to be left all over again. He'd known how the world worked, then. Or, at least, he'd thought he did.

And then Otabek came into his life. He got him to trust him, got him to be his friend, and, suddenly, Yuri wasn't so alone anymore.

No, Yuri had someone he could rely on, and, later, someone he loved. Someone he loved who loved him back and promised never to leave.

It took a while for Yuri to believe it, even longer for Yuri to say yes -- sure that Otabek would disappear, just like everyone else, but he didn't, and, eventually, Yuri knew he didn't have to be alone anymore.

They got married and it was the happiest day of Yuri's life, the day that Otabek promised him that he loved him in the strongest, most secure way.

Yuri had believed him.

Yuri wished he hadn't.

When you trust someone, believe them when they say that it's you and only you, that you're enough, it only hurts worse when they're proven a liar. And they always are.

As, at last, Yuri came to the end of his notifications, he swiped the last one away with a finality.

No more. That he promised himself. No more caring, no more human emotion, no more love, and no more trust. No more lies.

With a detachment and steady hands, resigned to and accepting of his fate to be alone, Yuri opened his messages.

I'll meet you at the coffee shop on the corner of Oak and Birchwood. 9 am on Thursday.

Yuri sent the message before shutting his phone off once more and pulling himself out of bed.

It was slow, everything felt slow, like molasses, as if the world's gravity had been altered and Yuri was made of lead, everything taking four times longer for him to do.

He did it though, and attributed the slowness to too much sleep -- he hadn't gotten out of bed in nearly three days. Now, though, he got out of it, up and out, and back to the real world. He took a shower, brushing his hair and teeth, and pulling on clothing. He made a breakfast of toast and sliced fruit, eating it quietly at the kitchen table, bathed in the early morning sun.

And then, for the first time in days, something happened quickly.

Yuri's stomach turned and he lurched out of his seat, finding himself on his knees before the toilet moments later, emptying his recent breakfast into the basin.

By the time he finished, his skin was clammy, and his hair was damp with sweat. He sat there for a second, letting his breath even out as sensation washed over him.

Eventually, he stood up, brushed his hair out of his face, and flushed the toilet, going back to his day.

He met Victor at the rink and either ignored or brushed off his questions and concerns over why Yuri was back so soon, and whether it might be better for him to take some time off? That was the last thing Yuri wanted, and he told Victor so in an impassive undertone, explaining that things would be simpler if he could just get back to normal.

No matter that his normal had included his husband.

Had, being the operative word.

Yuri finished out his sessions at the rink and moved on to the ballet portion of his day, joining Yuuri at the studio for the class he taught on beginning steps and positions. Again, he received the probing, concerned questions, and sympathetic gazes, but Yuri dismissed them.

He was fine.

This was what was bound to happen -- in just about every aspect of his life -- and Yuri had better get used to it, he thought. He sought no comfort nor displayed any emotions for he had none. He was alone, and that was all there was to it. Emotions only complicated things -- hadn't he proven that to himself time and time again?

No, it would be easier to have a clean break, and that was why, he decided, as he thought back to the message on his phone, he had agreed to meet Otabek in eight days' time.

No blood, no gore, no tears, or trauma, Yuri would go to the cafe and lay out the situation, explain to Otabek that he wasn't upset, but that things hadn't worked out. He'd say that one of them would move out, he didn't care who, and that the assets would be split. No harm, no foul.

If only things were that simple.

Yuri stared at the test in his hand. He'd bought it as a precaution, to dismiss even the question. But after he'd thrown up for nine days straight, like clockwork, he had done it to get Yuuri off of his back, who was too observant for his own damn good.

This, however, was not what he'd expected it to say.

It took Yuri a full fifteen minutes to process it, and then some. By the time he'd finally pulled himself to his feet and off of his bathroom floor, he was already late for his meeting with Otabek.

He canceled.

It could wait. He needed time to think now. Now that things had become infinitely more complicated.

The second he walked into the ballet studio that day, he was assaulted with questions of "how did it go?" and "what did he say?" and "how do you feel?" Yuri had answered none of them, simply dumping
his bag behind the desk, and letting himself fall into the chair with a dull thud.

"I'm pregnant," he said dully, his eyes glazed over, "I took the test today. You were right."

Yuuri said nothing, but his eyes did all the talking for him. Worry, concern, sympathy, and about fifteen other emotions flashed through his irises before he finally spoke.

"What are you going to do?" Yuuri asked and Yuri simply shrugged his shoulders dejectedly.

"I have no idea," he replied honestly.

Yuuri didn't miss a beat, "Have you told Otabek? You were supposed to see him today, right?"

Yuri shook his head."I rescheduled," he murmured, "We're meeting on Sunday instead. I said something came up."

"Are you going to tell him?" Yuuri asked quietly and Yuri sighed.

"I have to, don't I?" It was more of a rhetorical question than anything, but Yuuri still bit his lip in response.

"In all fairness," he said finally, "I don't think there's much you have to do after what he did,"

Yuri let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "I'm not sure this counts," he replied, before letting his head fall into his hands. "I'm afraid to tell him though, not before I figure out what I want to do." Yuri sighed, "He'll
want me to keep it, I know he will."

"Do you?" Yuuri asked tentatively, taking the chair next to Yuri's, "Want to keep it, I mean?"

"I don't know." Yuri said heavily, "It's the worst possible timing, and I've had so little time to think," he paused for a moment, "What should I do?" He asked so quietly that if Yuuri hadn't been watching his lips move behind a curtain of hair he would've missed it, "What can I do?" Yuuri shook his head and reached out to set a hand on Yuri's shoulder, squeezing it softly.

"That's something only you can decide."

***

It was 9:02 am when Yuri walked into the cafe three days later, his chest tightening as he caught sight of that familiar, dark undercut. He ducked his head, letting his hair fall forward into his face before sweeping it back behind his ear, resolutely pushing any feelings he might've had away as he sat down next to his husband.

"Yuri," Otabek looked awful: there were dark bags under his eyes and he looked as though he hadn't slept in days, his normally, well-kept haircut disheveled. "Thank god you came," he breathed and Yuri stiffened, not meeting his eyes, "Please, will you let me explain?" Yuri made a concentrated effort to slow his pounding heart and shook his head.

"I don't want to know," he said softly, dipping his head to scan the menu before him, "I-- I don't care about how it happened. I just wanted to meet to deal with the consequences."

"Yuri, I--"

"I'm pregnant." Yuri interrupted him, looking him full in the face with one devoid of emotion. He paused for a second before continuing, "I'm keeping it." And it was true.

He didn't know why he'd decided to do so, nor when; all he knew was that when he'd woken up this morning, he simply couldn't get rid of it. He wasn't left with much of a choice after that.

All of the stress, anxiety, and exhaustion seemed to melt from Otabek's face as it lit with a smile, and he reached toward him, "That's amazing! Oh my god, Yuri, that's--" Yuri drew back quickly from the approach, recoiling into himself at the attempted contact.

"Don't misunderstand me." Yuri cut him off tonelessly. "I'm keeping it, but that doesn't mean I'm staying with you," Otabek's face fell. The look in his eyes -- one of shattered hope -- was one Yuri knew well; he averted his gaze. "I just thought you should know."

Otabek stared at him, "I-- I don't know what to say," Otabek murmured after a second.

Yuri shrugged, eyes sinking to the menu once more, "Then don't." He responded simply, "It's my choice, and I'm just letting you know for practicality's sake. Make of it what you will."

"'Practicality's sake?'" Otabek echoed, looking deeply hurt for a split second before his face reverted back to its customary, unreadable stoicism. "What does that mean?"

Yuri shrugged again. "What it says." Yuri replied shortly, "You're the father, you have the right to know. Not to mention that this complicates things with the separation, so we'll have to work that out."

"Separation?" Otabek's eyes flitted from Yuri to the menu at which his gaze remained focused. "Who said anything about a separation?"

Yuri set the menu aside with a resigned sigh and looked Otabek in the eyes, "Otabek, did you not think this was going to happen?" Otabek flinched at his given name in lieu of the diminutive they'd been using for years. "We're separating -- isn't it obvious?"

"Yuri," Otabek couldn't help the pleading tone in his voice, "Please, just let me explain--"

"No." Yuri's voice was quiet but hard: it left no room for argument. "Otabek," he spoke clearly, enunciating every syllable, "We are separating. One of us will move out -- I frankly don't care who, and, if you want to, we can have split custody of the child."

"So that's it?" Otabek asked, his voice breaking, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't keep the accusatory tone from the question, "No discussion, no attempt to work through this -- you're just done?"

"I can't see that there's anything else left to say." Yuri replied in an even, clipped tone and his complete and utter lack of emotion was starting to get to Otabek.

"How can you be so blase about this?" Otabek demanded, "Don't you feel anything?"

"I don't know what you want me to say," Yuri said tightly, "It is what it is. If this were up to me, we wouldn't be in this situation, but it wasn't up to me so I'm just dealing with the fallout."

"But it is up to you!" Otabek cried desperately, "You're the one pushing for a separation -- just give me a chance to explain things!"

"No." Yuri snapped, before taking a measured breath and standing up. "No," he said again, calmly, and his voice went back to that robotic clip that Otabek was really beginning to hate, "This is it, Otabek.
This is what's going to happen. If you want to be in the baby's life, you can be, if you don't, you're free. That's all this was about."

Otabek let out a low, wounded sound, "How can you say that?" He asked quietly, "Of course I want to be in the baby's life -- I want to be in your life -- Yuri, you can't just walk away from this."

Yuri took a restrained breath and gave a sharp nod, "Okay, if you want to have contact you can: you can be involved." Yuri replied, completely ignoring the second half of what Otabek had said.

"Yuri--"

"I'll keep you informed." And with that, Yuri turned on his heel and exited the cafe, leaving a stunned and desperate Otabek in his wake.